


Blue Drop: 天使の避難所 Tenshi no Hinansho -- Refuge of Angels

by QuasiSybarite



Category: Blue Drop (Anime)
Genre: Alien Culture, Azanael - Freeform, Blue Drop - Freeform, F/F, Romance, Shoujo-ai, Survival, Tsubael - Freeform, Yuri, tsubael x azanael
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-20 12:57:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2429678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuasiSybarite/pseuds/QuasiSybarite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the TV series. Tsubael finds herself, the Commander, and Azanael in the care of the forime from the school and together they struggle with the changes brought about in the early days of the war. They also find that the sabotage of Blue had a lasting, unanticipated effect on all three survivors from the Kamioki Island incident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 救う Sukuu -- Rescue

天使の避難所 _Tenshi no Hinansho_ \-- Refuge of Angels

 

Description: After the TV series. Tsubael finds herself, the Commander, and Azanael in the care of the forime from the school and together they struggle with the changes brought about in the early days of the war. They also find that the sabotage of Blue had a lasting, unanticipated effect on all three survivors from the Kamioki Island incident.

 

Author’s note: The end of the series felt too depressing as it stood so I decided to try to bring some closure to the events between the start of the invasion and the flash-forward to the U.N. shuttle. Tsubael was a strong supporting character and it seemed she needed some time in the spotlight.

 

 

CHAPTER 1 –- 救う _Sukuu_ \-- Rescue

 

Tsubael found herself as near nothing; a hint, a figment within limitless blackness.

She felt gentle but unsettling motion-- as though her very being had been reduced to a speck of dust and cast out to drift through the vastest of voids; flitting and weaving within the listless tumult of random, invisible currents. She regained a sense of time as the incessant drifting and lolling gave rise to wooziness and along with it a gradual awareness of self.

Pain and chill from the other parts of her body dragged her further into an unkind consciousness. She deduced that her situation had to be bad: her right shin wracked and seared, the shoulder on the same side radiated additional torture that spread up and into her neck, and her already swimming head felt heavy with unrelenting pressure. She became aware of the labor of her own breaths as her full faculties seemed to return in a rush.

She came to realize she was no longer in the capsule ejected from Blue, evidenced by the filth of dank soil and prickly leaves now beneath her legs and lower back. Her aching head and shoulders rested against something of greater comfort; a support smooth, firm, and warm.

She eased her eyes open to find herself facing the waning glow of a late evening sky peeking from between the inky silhouettes of overarching treetops. She recognized the sounds of forime close by, prattling in muddled, indiscernible tones. After a few moments of concentration she felt as though she knew some of the voices-- some of the students the Commander had been living with at the academy, she surmised.

Cautiously, gingerly, she swiveled her throbbing head, straining to better survey her surroundings. She scanned into the dusk to her right, then left to find nothing but dense brush, allowing her only to see what she guessed as a few paces in any direction. She rolled her head back to check above and startled as she came to find a forime face staring down in reverse, presumably watching her the whole time. She relaxed a little when she recognized the girl-- the tall one who enjoyed refining food for others, she recalled.

Eventually, an odd reaction became evident on the Tall One’s face as if Tsubael’s wakefulness struck her as amusing in some way. She maintained the doltish look and continued to gaze down. Her eyes stayed fixed on Tsubael’s for some time before she slackened her mouth a little to grunt “Hey,” as what had to have been a terse, primitive syllable of greeting.

Despite her slow, tumbling nausea, Tsubael now began to better understand her body’s orientation from visual cues. With her left hand, she reached up to perform a tactile survey, confirming some of her assumptions. Through touch, she could tell a crude dressing had been banded around her skull and that the supportive warmth beneath her head and shoulders had to be emanating from the Tall One’s thighs. She strained to tilt back a bit further and caught a better glimpse of the forime’s dark, ornamented clothes. Not what appeared to be customary coverings for a forime, she pondered; perhaps a uniform? A costume?

It came back to her in a rush; everything that had happened-- the school festival; the play.

The Tall One had a role in that play-- the play that never concluded; the play at the site that she had failed to protect for the Commander.

She let her eyes sink shut. She swallowed. A feeling of dismay flooded into her as she now remembered more of what had happened-- right up to the point Commander Ekaril ejected her from Blue. She weltered within a mix of gratitude and betrayal for those final actions of her closest and only friend.

Had Commander Ekaril succeeded? Had she stopped Novall? Tsubael wondered.

Eager for an answer, she began to ask, “The Commander... did... did she--” and then stopped herself, giving up, realizing she had just wasted what little strength she had trying to get information from a creature who would have no idea what she was asking about.

“Um, I’m not sure what you mean,” the Tall One stated the obvious.

Tsubael released a disappointed sigh. The forime did not mean to be unhelpful, she reminded herself-- it seemed doubtful that any of them could possess enough awareness of the situation to be of any use.

She then gasped, filling with the sudden, thrilling understanding that Commander Ekaril must have succeeded, knowing that none of the forime from that school would be alive if she had not.

That small surge of triumph seemed to come at a cost to her body as her heart began to beat a bit stronger and she had to clamp her eyes tighter in response to the intensifying throb in her head and the redoubled pain in her arm and leg.

Still driven to find out the details of what happened, she decided to ask simpler questions, ones the primitives might be able to answer. “How did I get here?”

“I’m not sure.”

Tsubael felt herself almost groan in reflexive disappointment.

The Tall One then added, “We found you here-- with a soldier from your side... was that your commander?”

Tsubael opened her eyes wide. Panic set in as her mind began to run wild with the possibilities implied by the forime’s statement. “Soldier? My side? Who? How many?”

The forime seemed nonchalant about the matter, appearing ignorant or indifferent to the peril she and her whole planet were in. “Just one. She told us to keep you hidden. Wakatake told us she knew both of you so we went along with what the other one said.”

The other’s account left Tsubael baffled for a few moments until she could concentrate enough through her pain and dizziness to deduce who it had to have been. Azanael, she thought; Wakatake knew her as well, would have recognized her. Azanael could have survived, traced her capsule’s automated distress beacon, and retrieved her from the sea before any reconnaissance craft from the main fleet might have found her, Tsubael concluded.

“Where is she? The soldier?” she asked as she urged her body to sit up in a reflexive attempt to locate the other. Her head swam from the effort. She closed her eyes again.

The Tall One’s hands eased Tsubael’s shoulders back down onto her lap. The forime assumed a infuriatingly haughty tone as she said, “Look, I may not know a lot about what you are but Wakatake said your blood turns white or something; and that means you’ve been bleeding from your head-- a lot. And I’m pretty sure you have bones like ours-- and the ones in your right shin are broken. You have to settle down and stay still until we can find a safer place and a way to move you without making things worse.”

Though aggravated by the forime’s bossiness, Tsubael begrudgingly decided to acquiesce since the Tall One’s deductions surprised her with their accuracy. She admitted that after hearing the Tall One’s application of logic she felt a little better about trusting that forime with her immediate well-being.

Despite the discouragement of her continuing pain, she felt compelled to press the other for more information, eager to find something that she might use to improve her situation. “I must speak to the one who brought me here. Where is she?”

“She’s gone. She told us to look after you and then left in a hurry.” After a moment the Tall One seemed hesitant to add, “That was a few hours ago, before it started getting dark. She kind of seemed like she was in bad shape as well-- like maybe her spaceship crashed worse than yours did?”

Tsubael felt herself swallow; now realizing that Azanael had likely gone on some brash, idiotic final mission to finish herself off in an attempt to match the Commander’s noble sacrifice. For a fleeting moment, she found herself selfishly wishing neither the Commander nor that overgrown show-off had been so consumed by their own sense of duty as to cast her aside and leave her behind to face her own inevitable, less courageous end in the alien world.

Though Azanael’s arrogance and high-handed nature was beyond annoying, Tsubael acknowledged that given the finality of the Commander’s bravest act that Azanael would have been her only surviving arume ally; Azanael who could have left her to die, but instead chose to save her; Azanael who as a final insult made sure Tsubael would be left with a debt that could never be settled; Azanael who she would never see again to thank.

It almost seemed that the Tall One understood Tsubael’s thoughts when she then obviously concocted and stated, “I’m sure she’ll be back... I could tell from the way she spoke to us. She was probably going to get help.”

Tsubael released the truth in a sigh. “There won’t be any help.”

The Tall One continued her pointless speculation, saying, “Maybe she went off on some other mission? Maybe someone else crash landed like you did and she’s gone off to rescue them too?”

Hearing the Tall One’s last theory caused Tsubael’s throat to ache. “There’s no one else to rescue... not from our side.” She swallowed to fight the sensation as she considered how the cavalier pilot had chosen to join the cause she and the Commander had taken; Commander Ekaril would not have succeeded without the advent of Azanael’s skills.

She closed her eyes tight, hoping to quash what felt like an impending flow of tears. “How bad has the fighting been here?” she asked, now feeling a strong need to shift the conversation to any other topic than either of her fallen comrades.

“Hours ago, there were a lot of explosions close by... then nothing. All of those big ships above the school just sort of drifted south and the explosions seemed to follow where they went. Everything got really quiet once the light stared to fade; no more flashes in the sky, no more big booms from behind the hills.” Her previously nonchalant tone dropped to betray a measure of regret as she added, “I think it might be over-- everything.”

The words and their delivery added to Tsubael’s gloom. She now concluded that the seemingly indifferent forime well understood what had taken place-- the subjugation of her entire world-- and chose to maintain a strong outward appearance for the sake of the rest. That forime, she could tell, had been created to be a leader.

She then found herself admitting that the Commander’s actions could never have stopped anything; she knew all along it would be a waste, a pointless mission, a gesture without lasting impact, but she chose to follow Commander Ekaril anyway-- she now understood the simple truth that she would have followed the Commander anywhere.

She then began to second-guess her own actions, wondering if she should have found a way to sabotage Blue’s final mission-- perhaps a well-intentioned betrayal to save the Commander from her own futile goal. That may possibly have been the better way to serve her, Tsubael thought-- to support Ekaril best by undermining her, ensuring she would live to lead the way in a far less hopeless operation.

She felt an immediate sting of guilt at that thought. Since that initial catastrophe that had killed countless number of natives and all but two of Blue’s crew, she had been the only one left for the Commander to rely on, to trust completely-- their eventual closeness in those twenty skoors spent in contact only with each other demanded that no such chicanery could have taken place and at such an important time.

The pressure of the tears she managed to choke-back earlier had returned, redoubled. Commander Ekaril, she thought. She squeezed her eyes shut a bit tighter and felt the tears escape to run down her temples and then back to her ears. She barely contained a heavy sob, now fully facing the reality that she had lost the most precious person in her life and she now lay stranded in an alien world: seriously injured, abandoned, and without options.

She could never return home, she knew. Her life too would end in this ugly, dirty, foreign place. Her people had conquered the forime and they would soon find her and execute her for her grand treason-- and for the killing of hundreds of her fellow arume when she had dispatched with the rest of the advanced fleet to protect Ekaril. To her people, she was surely reviled as defective; a monster.

She then grew self-conscious, realizing that she had allowed herself to show weakness in front of the forime, so she choked back her self-pity and opened her eyes to look again at the Tall One.

The forime gazed back, her expression softer than before, returning a look that seemed to almost mimic an understanding of her situation. She then shifted her countenance to present a slight smile, as though she might have sensed the weight of Tsubael’s profound collection of miseries.

“We’ll find our way through this.” She paused and added, “I’m Akane Kawashima,” she said.

Tsubael realized the forime had begun one of their introductory rituals. It seemed worthwhile to foster the other’s friendliness so she decided to participate in the perfunctory exchange. “Tsubael,” she replied.

“Your eyes... they’re beautiful,” the Tall One said, her tone suddenly reserved, bashful.

“Someone’s coming!” The warning came as a whisper from one of the other forime from close by.

The entire group seemed to be holding their breaths. The forced silence gave emphasis to the approaching sound of heavy, uneven footsteps against the forest floor. It became obvious by the syncopated gait of the approaching party that they might be wounded, staggering. A few more, slower steps sounded and then a stumble followed by a final series of thuds.

After a few tense, hushed moments, the Tall One pulled back and gently lowered Tsubael to rest flat on the ground. She then rose to creep toward the area where from which the unknown person’s collapse had sounded. Soon others in the vicinity began to rise from their crouched positions as they seemed to follow the Tall One’s lead.

From behind the closest thicket, one of them gasped, “Senkoji-san!”

At that sound, Tsubael’s body seemed to demand she rise and join the others. Despite her pain, she rolled to her side and struggled to crawl and follow the others, now overflowing with hope that Commander Ekaril really was the one who came to them through the woods.

After dragging herself about a meter, her head began to swim and her arms buckled to drop her face-first onto the ground. With her eyes now cinched in agony, she began again to pull herself blindly toward the growing din of relief and excitement from the group a short distance away.

“Help her!” the Tall One’s voice boomed out to command the others.

Within seconds, Tsubael felt herself lifted from beneath each shoulder followed by the sensation of hanging, being carried forward by a warm body at either flank. She opened her eyes. Despite her miserable condition she now bubbled with elation as she took in the incredible sight of two familiar Arume: Commander Ekaril and Azanael.

The two sat upright upon the ground, slumped against the trunk of a tree for support as the forime attempted to examine and tend to their injuries.

By overjoyed reflex, Tsubael felt herself gush, “Commander!” She closed her eyes again, letting herself succumb to a fit of joyful sobs.

She felt her forime escorts settle her down onto the ground. She felt the warmth of forime hands stroking and patting her back, seeming to appreciate and share in her happiness. She reopened her eyes, needing to see Ekaril, now determined to know what state her beloved Commander was in.

In the dim and fading light it seemed obvious Commander Ekaril’s condition was grave: charred blotches on her face and neck, one of her eyes squeezed shut and the other half-lidded, her breaths looked labored as though she suffered through immense pain.

Despite those obvious physical problems, Commander Ekaril had a strange air of peace about her. To Tsubael, she appeared to possess the discreet piety of someone who had discovered the truth behind a long-vexing mystery.

The Commander’s half-open eye contacted Tsubael’s. “Tsubael,” she sighed. She visibly labored to swallow and showed a small smile. After a few moments, she struggled to say, “Someone helped us-- all of us.” She then rolled her head to look to her right.

Tsubael followed the Commander’s gaze to where Azanael sat also propped against the tree. She considered the other in the worst shape of the three of them: the skin of her face and neck was split and blistered; both her eyes seemed swollen completely shut, dried blood and soot crusted the whole left side of her face, and most of her scorched and tattered uniform seemed saturated from earlier uncontrolled bleeding.

The rapid beat of approaching footsteps on the forest floor seemed to set everyone on high alert. The whole group went still and silent at once.

As the hurried steps drew closer an excited voice called out, “Sugawara-sensei says the school is safe! She told us to bring the alien!” The group seemed to ease, chattering excitedly as they rose again from their concealment.

As the two running forime had nearly reached the group, Tsubael recognized one as Mari Wakatake.

Suddenly, Wakatake jetted past the other and broke through brush, now sprinting toward the group. She seemed to leap through the last few meters and flung herself toward Ekaril like a missile.

Tsubael felt herself wince as Wakatake threw herself onto the injured Commander but she forgave the other’s brutishness when she witnessed the Commander’s obvious relief in the other’s clumsy, overeager embrace.

Tsubael found herself again in a losing struggle with tears. In that moment, it seemed she and all the other onlookers were equally taken by the sight of Wakatake’s wordless reunion with the Commander as the two stayed locked together, silent, near-motionless for many moments.

The Tall One was the first to speak, apparently trying to turn the group’s focus back to survival. “Everybody, let’s get them to the school infirmary.” She then stepped behind Tsubael, scooped under her arms, and began to lift her with the help of another forime.

Tsubael’s head swam. She lost sight of the Commander as she felt herself being positioned and swung around. Things were happening faster than she could keep up with. As she finally grew more accustomed to her new situation in the support of the forime, she began to ponder the limitations of forime medicine and that led her to a sudden, desperate realization that only she had seemed to consider.

“Azanael?” Tsubael called out. Akane and the forime holding her stopped, apparently understanding and allowing her to address the other as some three other forime struggled to roll and lift Azanael’s lanky, lethargic form. “Your craft... where is it?”

Azanael seemed listless as if unable to hear or understand.

Tsubael raised her voice, hoping to raise a response, better get through. “Getour? Where is Getour?”

Azanael’s head seemed to perk and rotate toward the sound of Tsubael’s question. She seemed to collect herself and then struggled to croak, “water,” before apparently slipping from consciousness completely.

“Take me to the water, now,” Tsubael then ordered the forime who held her upright.

“You’re going to the infirmary.” The finality of the Tall One’s tone implied the issue was settled.

Tsubael struggled to control her temper as best she could and attempted to explain the facts of the matter; “The burns they have are from heavy neutron exposure. Nothing in your most advanced medicine can help them. They won’t live more than two days as they are now. Her ship should have something we can use to heal them-- in its emergency kit. I must get to--”

“We’ll just injure you further if we have to make a side trip. I’m taking you to the infirmary so we can try to set that broken leg for you.”

As Tsubael felt hands clutch tighter at each of her limbs, she realized then that she was offered no say in the matter. She called out to Commander Ekaril, “Commander, please tell them to let me go.”

The Commander seemed conscious, but gave no response, as though the request had never reached her ears.

Knowing the lives of the other two were solely in her hands, now burning with frustration, Tsubael fought to free herself and lashed out, “I’ll drag myself there if I have to! Let me go, you small-brained barbarians! I need to get to her craft now!” She then halted her struggle as she noticed a piercing gaze upon her.

Wakatake, shouldering one of the Commander’s arms to hold her upright, had swiveled her head nearly backward to glare at her.

Tsubael had to look away, now self-conscious about her desperate, thoughtless outburst and lack of control in front of the Commander as well as the group of forime.

“Then I will take you,” Wakatake said, her voice both calm and forceful.

The whole group seemed to still at the girl’s statement.

“Wakatake, don’t be--” the Tall One started.

“I’m not being anything! We need to find that ship now, before anyone else finds it!” Wakatake rebuked.

Tsubael looked back to Wakatake, met her gaze once again.

The girl’s face was fixed in determination; she held an air of mature resolve that Tsubael had never before seen from her. At that moment, Tsubael began to realize that the Commander’s impetuous companion might be her only capable ally on the whole forime planet.

The Tall One countered, “Let’s get all three of them back to the school and then we can go and get whatever it is and bring it back to her. You can’t carry her all the way to the shore and back... definitely not with her shin dangling in half like this.”

“Yes, I can.” Wakatake transferred her support of the Commander to another forime and turned to approach the Tall One. Her tone remained calm but her countenance carried an obvious air of challenge to the larger, older forime. “I’ll use the groundskeeper’s wagon. I can sit her on top of it and roll her to wherever the spaceship is.” She added, “You make sure everyone else gets back to the school.”

Wakatake then glanced to Tsubael for a moment and flashed what could only be interpreted as a cavalier grin. Without warning, she darted off into the woods, presumably to get the conveyance she had mentioned.

The Tall One released an aggravated groan. She and the other forime carried Tsubael a few steps sideways and set her gently back onto the ground next to a large tree.

Tsubael felt obliged to speak; to offer some kind of apology for her earlier outburst to the Tall One. She knew at least that the Commander would expect it of her. “Akane Kawashima,” she began, “I made some regrettable remarks. I-I don’t mean to seem ungrateful...” She struggled to recall the correct forime custom for a formal apology. She tried what she thought might be appropriate, offering, “Please, forgive my outburst.”

Akane the Tall One gave a slight, indifferent shrug in response as if to indicate the whole matter meant nothing. “Forget it-- It takes a lot more than that to hurt my feelings.” She then smiled and said, “Wakatake doesn’t have far to go. She should be back here soon. I’ll stay with you until she comes back.”

“You should catch up with the rest-- they need their leader.” She added, “I trust you with the wellbeing of my comrades. Please, hide them once you get back to the school. They mustn’t be found-- by your people or mine.”

Akane nodded. She showed a confident smile. “I know well how to keep things hidden in that school.”


	2. 野蛮医学 Yaban Igaku -- Bush Medicine

CHAPTER 2 --野蛮医学 _Yaban Igaku_ \-- Bush Medicine

 

Wakatake’s return took far longer than Tsubael expected and as the quiet, tense moments alone passed she tried to keep especially alert of her surroundings. Several times she thought she heard something rustling through the woods far to her left, opposite the direction from which she anticipated Wakatake’s arrival, and the unexplained sounds set her further on-edge.

She tried to convince herself that she might be mistaken; she could not fully trust her perception due to the unending distraction of the pain in her leg, shoulder, and head. But again, she heard something, now certain that a faint rustle came from beyond the concealment of distant brush. She lifted herself as much as she could and twisted, scanning through the twilight to assess the source of the stirrings. She then turned back to face a strong and steady sound coming from Wakatake’s expected direction.

In moments the girl came rolling back into the area with a rattling contraption pulled behind her. As she came upon Tsubael she released the handle of the cart, bringing herself and the conveyance to an abrupt stop. She stood, doubled at the waist, supported by her hands on the fronts of her thighs as she panted through a spate of labored huffs.

“How is the Commander?” Tsubael asked, eager for any information about her only and dearest Commander. She pried further to confirm some of her assumptions from what she had seen earlier, asking, “You were talking with her before, weren’t you? Telepathically?”

Wakatake offered no response, continuing to huff and pant.

Tsubael then realized the overeager girl had completely winded herself and needed yet to catch her breath before she would be able to speak, so she returned her gaze to the other direction, trying to stay apace their tactical situation. She peered deep into the shadowy distance, scanning with care as she waited for Wakatake to recover from her obviously overeager sprint.

She continued to inspect the area with a methodical, linear sweep from left to right. In her peripheral vision, she caught an interesting, faint glint and snapped her attention back to that spot but in that brief instant the feature seemed to have vanished. She whispered, “I heard something over there, before you got here. I think I just saw something-- we may not be alone.”

Wakatake then calmed her breathing a bit and squinted into the indicated direction. She seemed to linger in her scrutiny of one spot.

“You see something?” Tsubael asked, unsure how much better or worse forime could see in the dark than could arume.

Wakatake did not answer right away as if unsure. “I don’t think so.” She then said, “Let’s get to that stuff before someone else finds it.” She seemed to have more or less caught her breath and brought herself fully upright. She stepped closer and then crouched all the way down to clamp her arms around Tsubael’s middle and began to hoist her upward.

Tsubael felt her body shock at the unexpected sensations of the contact. Wakatake’s body seemed to glow with heat, instantly countering the pervasive chill Tsubael had felt since awakening in the forest. The girl’s uniform practically steamed with perspiration, the skin of her arms was slick and wet; repulsive, unclean, but almost welcome; a comfort in some primitive, animalistic way. Wakatake’s firm yet easy hold made Tsubael feel almost as though she could again levitate as she used to when channeling Blue’s now nonexistent Emul force effects into her suit.

Then a deluge of impressions gushed into her mind. She felt suffocation, sinking, drowning. She saw Commander Ekaril in her forime disguise, her eyes squared with murderous rage. Profound, fathomless loss seemed to soak and wash through her.

Then the despair diminished, ebbed, ceding to a mélange of comfort, satisfaction, and understanding. She felt herself shivering, quaking, still encircled by the radiant heat and humidity of Wakatake’s embrace. The other was panting again. Tsubael then recognized that she now breathed heavily as well.

Wakatake spoke against the side of her head. “You watched the whole time,” Wakatake said between breaths. She panted, “You couldn’t look away.” After a few moments her body seemed to settle down. She uttered, just above a whisper, “I should feel awful for you-- It’s all you could ever do.”

Alarmed, Tsubael now realized that she had just experienced Wakatake’s inexplicable ability; the same contact telepathy effect that Commander Ekaril had mentioned. She then lamented that Wakatake must have witnessed some of the many dreadful things about her in the experience: her indiscreet surveillances; her secret, deep infatuation with Ekaril; her failure to save the play; her failure to save the Commander. An immense surge of shame welled up from her gut and seemed to sour her insides.

Wakatake resumed hoisting her onto the wheeled contraption, straining to lift her the final few centimeters onto the cart’s cargo deck. She seemed to take great care in positioning her so that her legs found the stability needed for the expedition.

Tsubael’s shame had begun to ebb and she felt compelled to find out what, specifically, Wakatake had been talking about. “What did I watch?” she asked.

Wakatake seemed to ignore the question.

“Mari,” Tsubael tried again, “What did I watch?”

Wakatake paused and turned to contact Tsubael’s eyes directly. She took a moment of obvious consideration before replying, “You had to watch everything: everything that went wrong; everything that hurt her, the one you care about; then everything that made you worry about her, her health, her sanity-- you ended up being witness to all of it; feeling like a helpless bystander.”

Tsubael shook her head, rejecting the notion by reflex. “That’s not it. No, I--” she started to explain, to rationalize for herself as well as Wakatake.

Unable to find the right points to raise, she gave up, realizing that some of what the other said was right; Wakatake’s conclusion had to have drawn directly from her own memories, however repressed.

“You came to love her,” Wakatake stated.

Tsubael swallowed, unsure how to respond, knowing that it would be again futile to deny what the other said.

Wakatake smiled. After a moment, she added, “If it hadn’t been for you she never would have come around, never would have tried to find me-- It was you who kept her going, kept her alive all that time. I guess I should thank you for that.”

Tsubael found Wakatake’s over-generous conclusion too preposterous to let stand. She tried to get the facts out in the open, saying, “After the accident most of the ship was damaged so greatly that the automatic repair processes were all but useless-- and the Commander was equally devastated; she didn’t speak nor contact my eyes for almost a month of your time.

At first, I just stood by and hoped... I waited, but no rescue ever came. I began to presume they thought Blue had been obliterated.

I had no idea what to do-- all but the most basic ship functions seemed irreparable. Eventually I just picked an area to work and started repairing things as best I could. I used whatever pieces I could salvage from the rest of the ship made vacant by the losses we took from the accident.

Whenever I got a system working or another section of the ship back online, I would visit her quarters and inform her of the new status. One of those times-- maybe once I had about a tenth of the ship back online-- she looked up, as though she finally realized she wasn’t alone. She met my eyes, and smiled. She complimented my efforts, thanked me, and issued new orders-- it was the first time she had said a word since the incident.

It was all I could do to contain myself; I was so happy that she came around.” Tsubael felt her eyes water, recalling the exact feeling of that moment. “She wanted me to sustain my efforts on Blue while she would integrate with your society and make contact with you. The three of us were the only survivors-- she already knew where I was... the idea of finding you is what brought her back and kept her going.” She added, “Nothing I could do could have been so influential.”

Wakatake put a finger to her chin, and twisted her features as if perplexed by what Tsubael had just said. After a moment of apparent reflection, she asked, “So you’re one of those smart-but-dense types, aren’t you?”

Tsubael felt her jaw slacken, taken aback by the forime’s crass, unexpected taunt. “What is that supposed to mean, exactly?”

Wakatake snickered, then turned, took up the cart’s handle and began running. The wagon bumped and bounded over the rough surface of broken branches and tree roots. Its wheels, bolts, and panels set up a steady rumble and clatter as the girl brought them through the wood. Each little bounce transmitted piercing pain through Tsubael’s injured leg and shoulder. She kept her eyes closed; trying to keep from crying out against the steady punishment afforded by the unsuitability of the filthy little conveyance.

After a time, her body found reprieve as she felt the cart rolling over the softness of grass for some distance, then eventually a smooth, quiet, level glide that had to be atop some kind of pavement.

At last, she felt everything stop. She heard the unmistakable slosh of lapping waves against the concrete faces of jetties and piers. She opened her eyes to find the once familiar harbor little more to behold than the lifeless black silhouettes of buildings beneath a clear, deep lavender sky arching over to meet gently undulating waves all the way to the horizon.

Realizing that Azanael could have left her ship almost anywhere, Tsubael tried to study the surroundings to determine the best place to start their search.

Wakatake seemed to scan the area as well and then suddenly picked up the handle of the cart to take them both to what appeared to be a long-disused wharf with a surface of decrepit timber. She turned to Tsubael and asked, “What will the stuff look like?”

“We need to find her craft first,” Tsubael stated.

“I feel like she left it right here-- it just looks like the right place.... maybe under this dock.” She stepped away to crouch and peer over the edge of the pier, as though to confirm her statement. “I think I can climb across the beams underneath to get onto the ship.”

Tsubael realized then that Commander Ekaril had perhaps telepathically shared some impressions of the location to Wakatake back when the group still lay hidden in the forest. Now Wakatake’s earlier insistence on taking her and her current assuredness about the locale made better sense.

“So what will the rescue thing look like?”

Tsubael dug deep into her memories from training and tried to describe how she expected the emergency kit on one of Noval’s long range fighters might look; “Probably square and flat. It will be in the cockpit, close to the forward seat, most likely aft of it. The fasteners that hold it in place should shine faintly, even in the dark.” She added, “But there are many variations-- I don’t know what that specific one will look like for certain.”

“I’ll find what I can and bring it to you.” Wakatake showed a confident smirk along with the thumb-up gesture Tsubael recognized as a common sign of assurance inexplicably shared by forime and arume alike. The girl then walked to the edge of the pier, turned, and lowered herself over the side, eventually disappearing from sight.

Tsubael soon heard the impact of the girl’s shoes against something solid, presumably Azanael’s fighter. As she waited she hoped that the Commander telepathically gave the girl whatever impressions or orders she could-- at least had given her a notion of the basic entry protocols for a fighter like Azanael’s.

“Is it the yellow thing next to the two blue dots or the blue thing on the other side?” Wakatake’s muffled voice sounded from beneath the planks. “Push it? Turn it?”

Tsubael strained, forcing her voice to make sure her reply was received, “No. The yellow one-- I think you would slide it toward the outside of the craft-- then you push it when you can’t slide it any further.”

She soon heard the release of what she assumed to be the ship’s top access hatch and felt some relief that she would not have to blindly talk the forime through the trial-and-error she had half-anticipated during their trip to the water.

Some minutes later she heard what had to be the bolts of the hatch sliding shut soon followed by a splash from beneath the boards of the dock. Her ears kept track of paddling and sloshing noises which seemed to head out toward the bay. At last Wakatake emerged at the end of the pier, dripping wet, and with something clutched in her right arm.

She left a small puddle of water under each squishing footstep as she trudged forward to bring the item to Tsubael. “I think this is it. It was behind the pilot chair thing. It had glowing buckles on the corners. It was attached really well... I think I might have broken the glowing things when I pulled it out,” she said through near-chattering teeth. She presented the item to Tsubael.

Once Tsubael had the box in her hands she wasted no time in opening it, desperate to see the needed serum among the kit’s contents. She felt a wave of relief as she spotted among the jumbled contents a white metal tube capped in red with its tiny status lamp glowing vividly. She rummaged through the rest of the kit, expecting to find more of the desperately needed cellular repair agent but found no more.

“What?” Wakatake asked. “It isn’t the right stuff?”

Tsubael shook her head. She hated to say the truth of the explanation, reluctant to burden Wakatake and herself with the obvious: they would have to choose. “It’s only enough for one.”

Wakatake stood shivering, hugging herself, seeming to stare at the slowly spreading puddle of seawater around her shoes. Her face then tightened with sudden anger. After a while she drew a hasty breath and blurted, “No.”

Tsubael held the device up, challenging, shaking it as she said, “This is all there is. We’ll have to decide who needs it the most and hope that the other--.”

“No!” Wakatake shouted. “You’re supposed to be brilliant. Hagino says you’re stupendously smart. You’re supposed to make impossible things look easy. She says you do it all the time!”

Tsubael felt her breath stop. The notion seemed to arrest her whole body, halt her thoughts. Commander Ekaril would never have said such flattering things about her to Wakatake, would she? Tsubael wondered. And why would the Commander exaggerate things so wildly? Did she really mean that?

Wakatake turned, gripped the handle of the cart and commanded, “Think of something brilliant while I take you back to the school.”

Tsubael sighed and closed the case, securing its contents for the rough ride back. “Wakatake-san,” she said, hoping she got the proper, respectful forime protocol correct, “Thank you for getting this.” Her sense of duty to the Commander began once again to well-up inside as she added, “You’re right-- I will find a way for both of them to use this.”

Wakatake nodded and then started with a sprint and maintained that frenetic pace for the whole first leg of their return. Wakatake’s intense exertion had brought both of them to the academy much faster than Tsubael would have expected. The somewhat familiar place was little more than hulking shadows and patches of moonlight, apparently without a power source just as the buildings by the harbor. Once at what appeared to be the main building of the school, Akane and the heavy-bodied forime met them, seemingly in anticipation of their return. The two lifted and carried Tsubael inside the structure and through a dizzying series of turns among its lightless corridors.

At last, they brought her into a room glowing with dim light from the crude wax torches she knew the forime sometimes used for basic illumination. The Arume fleet had always planned to disable their electron-based power systems as part of their assault, Tsubael knew, but seeing the primitive state to which it reduced the already simple culture caused her to cringe with what seemed a disproportionate sympathy.

The pair who had carried her then set her onto a bed and her body felt some relief at once from the comparative luxury of the soft mattress and warm, smooth material now beneath her.

Once again, she found Akane staring down at her in reverse. She asked, “You got what you needed? Now you can help them, right?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Tsubael said, now aware of the shadows from several forime at the side of the bed, all seeming to murmur to each other while scrutinizing her injured leg.

“And how about you?” Akane asked. She gave a slight smirk. “Can I get anything for you? We want to help you get better too.”

Tsubael almost smiled at the other’s consideration. Then she felt a sudden wave of suspicion.

Before Tsubael could react, Akane suddenly lowered to pin her shoulders to the bedding, looking sidelong as she did. She whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Then the large forime dropped her full weight across Tsubael’s middle, immobilizing her in a sudden crush of pressure and confinement. She felt a hand clamp over her mouth.

The large forime’s weight made it impossible for her to draw a breath. She tried to flail, desperate, but found herself unable to do more than twitch a finger or limb. Hands closed in on her tender right calf and shin. In an instant, her lower leg erupted in agony. She had no breath to scream.

The two that had been holding her down suddenly fell away.

She gulped in a huge breath and released it in an uncontrollable wail. That newest abuse to her right leg had become the entirety of her existence. She felt herself moan with each release of breath. After some time, she began to regain control of herself-- the pain diminished enough to allow her thoughts to branch out beyond dreading the next breath.

She opened her eyes to find everyone in the room silent, averting their gaze, obviously distraught over the commotion she had caused. An older looking forime sat next to the bed, close to her right leg, apparently the one who had caused the agony. On the floor next to the bed sat the older forime’s accomplices; Akane and the Heavy One, both now appearing ill.

Still panting through waves of agony, she raised her head a bit higher and peeked down, surprised to see her shin once again straight, though swollen and near violet with deep bruising. The Old One must have used her hands to realign the broken bones, Tsubael concluded.

She looked to her left and found the Commander sitting upright on the floor close by, cocooned in a few layers of blankets. Her head hung down and both her eyes were closed, perhaps sleeping or in a state of deep concentration. Next to her on the other bed lay Azanael’s lanky form, also seemingly in some unresponsive state.

The sight of both her comrades’ dismal condition re-ignited Tsubael’s desperation to find a way to help them. “I came here with a box... I need it now.” she stated.

The Heavy One rose and handed the kit to Tsubael.

Akane then helped her to sit upright and stabilized her position by tucking cushions and blankets behind her. “We hated to do that, you know. It must have hurt terribly-- I swear I could almost feel it myself.”

Tsubael nodded to the other and opened the survival kit from Azanael’s fighter.

Akane stayed close by her side, holding an electron-based lantern to better illuminate the contents as Tsubael removed, inspected, and considered each one.

The oldest forime, Sugawara-sensei-- so the rest called her, read instructions aloud from a book to direct the Heavy One and the forime who wrote the play through each agonizing step of bracing and wrapping Tsubael’s broken leg. The two meant well, Tsubael could tell, but their inexperience led them to make many mistakes, each one causing another sour spell of agony as they made and sometimes re-made different steps of the primitive repair of wood, cloth, and some sticky white mud.

Tsubael distracted herself from the intense discomfort by concentrating on the assortment of Arume survival items in her lap. Most of them had no use in their current situation, but as she thought about how each item was constructed, how each worked, she eventually began to form an idea that might allow her to administer a partial dose of the single-charge cellular repair serum to all three of them. Once she felt certain that she could use the emergency signal transmitter’s low speed logic module to interrupt the serum canister’s transjector mid-application, her only remaining quandary lay in determining whether an incomplete dose would be of any help or merely a waste of the single resource.

She knew there would be no other chance for her or her compatriots, so with great care, she tinkered and pieced her solution together.

Wakatake entered the room in fresh, dry clothes. She walked straight to the Commander and knelt next to her. She looked over to Tsubael and asked, “Did you figure it out?”

Tsubael nodded, presenting as positive an expression as she could manage given the low likelihood of success. “Bring her to me,” she requested, already feeling so nervous about the consequences of her plan’s failure that she wanted to call it off.

Wakatake and another forime helped the Commander to stand and brought her to the side of Tsubael’s bed.

“Remove her coverings,” she ordered. “This has to go into her chest for maximum effect.” Her hands shook as she positioned the precious serum transjector against the center of Commander Ekaril’s bosom and readied her thumb on the crude mechanical trigger she managed to clip into the logic module from the beacon. She drew a breath and held it as she released a jet of the atomized serum through the Commander’s chest wall and then in almost the same instant hit the makeshift trigger on the other device to interrupt the transjector’s routine. Once certain that her makeshift interruptor had worked, she released her breath. She shook the serum tube to judge its fullness. Since it felt a bit lighter she felt a further measure of relief; certain that some amount made its way into Commander Ekaril’s body.

She jostled the serum container once more and guessed that a bit less than half remained. At that moment she came to accept that she would never see her share of the medicine, so she decided to simply push the whole remainder into Azanael.

At her request, the others then slid Azanael’s bed into position against hers. Once the others had managed to get Azanael’s torso exposed, Tsubael gasped, horrified at the extent of the other’s injuries. The center of her chest was little more than a ragged concavity ringed with bubbled and melted skin, as though she had been shot straight through by a beam weapon and the wound had only recently closed. She swallowed back her horror and empathy and requested the forime raise and tilt the other close enough for her to administer what she knew might be Azanael’s only chance at surviving her numerous injuries. She pressed the transjector against the other’s belly and emptied the rest of the cellular repair agent into her compatriot.

With the others now treated as best she could manage, Tsubael fell back to let her body go limp and relax. She lowered her eyelids, exhausted, now leaning into the warmth and support offered by Akane who had remained half-seated on the bed at her right side through most of the ordeal. Sugawara-sensei had leaned in to cover her with a blanket. As her body warmed further, she felt as though she could doze at any moment, and eventually settled into slumber.


	3. CHAPTER 3 –- 学んだ味 Mananda Aji -- Acquired Tastes

CHAPTER 3 –- 学んだ味 Mananda Aji -- Acquired Tastes

 

Tsubael felt herself jolt, startled into wakefulness by an eruption of rumbling coughs close by. She twisted left, toward the commotion and found Azanael as the source.

The other sat alongside her about an arm’s length away, doubled forward and straining to hack and hem. The blisters and broken skin on Azanael's face and neck appeared less severe than before, but her eyes still looked too swollen to open, and the throes of her coughing fit seemed to leave her oblivious to all else.

Tsubael then noticed forime clothing on the other-- a loose-fitting robe of deep blue material-- which then led her to discover some disconcerting details of her own situation. She found herself also wrapped in native garb, though hers was a pale color and decorated with an artful pattern that seemed to mimic the silhouettes of budding trees. It then occurred to her that she and Azanael were no longer on beds in the forime infirmary, now instead lying atop a pair of mats on the floor of a cramped, windowless room.

Despite those unexpected details it somehow seemed familiar, proper. She concentrated, struggling to recall thoughts or impressions that might better account for everything and eventually some notions of their relocation began to coalesce in her mind: a dizzying ride that had her twisting through many hallways; settling into the new bedding; the annoyance of bandages being changed; her body stripped and then swabbed a limb at a time before being wrapped in the forime clothing-- all tiny flashes of memories that seemed specific yet unreal, imagined.

Thought and time had lost all coherence since the one called Sugawara-sensei had begun feeding her forime medicine. The tiny pellets tasted terrible and did nothing to dull the pain in her head and leg as they were supposed to, but they did seem to make it easy to sleep, and sleep often. She deduced that her current loss of faculty was another effect of the crude chemicals.

She shifted a little in her bedding, the motion forcing her to acknowledge that the bulky, stone-like bandage the forime put around her leg was still there, keeping her immobile; trapped.

The rumble and bark of Azanael’s coughing continued. The heaves lengthened, leaving her to draw breaths in desperate gulps between each spasm.

Tsubael forced herself to roll back, to move her gaze elsewhere; silently wishing that the upsetting sounds of Azanael's noisy excruciation would soon calm. She swallowed, feeling herself sink deeper into upset as the sounds of the other's torment proved impossible to ignore, seeming to deepen further.

She knew Azanael put herself at grave risk to find her and bring her to safety, and this miserable, torturous condition had to be a direct result of that risk the other had taken-- for her.

After a few more moments, she gave up trying to ignore the other and instead turned to view her suffering roommate. She soon found herself staring at Azanael, observing, taking in details, tracing the other with her eyes. She found herself easing further into intense, impolite voyeurism since the other seemed oblivious to her presence as well as her now unabashed scrutiny.

She noticed that despite Azanael’s miserable condition she somehow still looked quite fetching, though Tsubael had expected as much from a Paragon-- one of the genotropes' rarest and most refined products-- believed to be only one in every five million created by the pair of massive, ancient machines.

That thought brought her to recall the snide chatter she had often overheard among the ranks in the advanced fleet well before the forime survey mission had launched. A great many were envious of Onomil for having caught the eye of the lead ship’s dashing, perfect Flight Chief and their resentment often escaped in dark, sarcastic remarks.

Tsubael then recalled her reflexive anger upon hearing the more derisive quips from those jealous ones-- Onomil did nothing to deserve their comments. Onomil was a warm and kindly being, Tsubael reflected.

Even from her first cycles aboard Blue, in Operations, it was only Onomil who had seemed to pay her any notice; only Onomil who seemed eager to share, to help her learn all of Blue's intricacies; only Onomil who seemed to go out of her way to praise Tsubael's progress in front of the Commander. Though cordial and talkative with all of the Operators and the rest of the crew, it often seemed Onomil had given Tsubael a special, closer kind of attention.

Tsubael felt herself smile.

In their brief time serving side by side, together running Blue, Tsubael had come to think of the other as a friend; someone who actually paid attention to what she had to say-- though she never could find anything interesting to talk about with Onomil other than drive channel efficiency factors and continued maintenance of Blue’s leminov subsystems. It then occurred to her that perhaps that was what Onomil might have liked about her. Blue was, after all, Onomil’s ship; she knew every part of it and seemed equally eager to talk about it.

Poor Onomil, thought Tsubael. And Blue–- she was a good ship.

Tsubael felt her eyes water. She then realized that the silly forime drug which dulled her mental abilities and made her chronically sleepy seemed also to exaggerate her emotions. She sniffled, no longer able to contain her feelings nor the teardrops now crawling down her cheeks to run down the side of her neck.

And poor Azanael, she thought, returning her gaze to the ceiling. That awful accident took Onomil away from her as well.

She then turned back to notice that Azanael had finally calmed her cough and laid back on her mat, drawing visibly shallow, exhausted breaths. After a moment, Azanael croaked out a question, “Are you in pain?”

Tsubael startled a bit at the realization that Azanael seemed keenly aware of her. “Some, yes,” she replied.

A moment passed.

Azanael sighed, “You were crying just now. It must be bad.”

Tsubael felt herself cringe with embarrassment at her feeble display in the other's presence. “Yes, I suppose it is,” she replied, hoping to let the issue rest.

“Is it your leg? Your leg looked damaged when I found you...”

“Yes,” Tsubael replied. “The forime set it straight and wrapped some kind of concrete bandage around it so that it stays in place.”

“And how bad do I look?” Azanael asked.

Tsubael thought for a moment before answering, choosing her words carefully so as not to unduly upset the other. “You're improving every time I look at you. I don't think there's any permanent damage.” She felt a glimmer of satisfaction as she remembered her improvised medicine and considered how it had visibly helped the other to recover. She decided to share a little of her hopefulness, adding, “There was only a single tube of cell repair in your fighter's emergency kit. I figured out a way to split it between you and the Commander. It took a bit of engineering, but I was able to get almost half of it into you-- and even that little amount seems to be working.”

Azanael let out a huff. “Idiot.”

The shock of the other's unexpected derision struck Tsubael deeply, leaving her too stunned to respond, unable to defend herself.

“You should have used it on Ekaril and yourself,” Azanael said. “I had already used two of them after I blasted my way out of Noval's aft hangar.”

Tsubael then wanted to shrink into nothing, overwhelmed with regret now that she understood her mistake. She should have taken more time to consider why the kit was in such disarray and why it had only a single transjector before she had so hastily decided how to use it. She cursed herself for not realizing that Azanael might have already used most of the supply.

“How is Ekaril?” Azanael asked.

As a reflex to mitigate her now obvious oversight, Tsubael found herself blurting, “She got more than half of it.”

Azanael huffed again. “And you wasted the rest on me.” She added, “Since you're immobilized we'll have to leave you behind when they come here looking for us.”

Tsubael swallowed as she again felt tears well-up in the corners of her eyes.

Azanael was right, Tsubael admitted to herself. She had assumed the responsibility of taking care of the Commander and Azanael and she had indeed made some very stupid, rash decisions. She would have to be accountable for her mistakes. She closed her eyes and fought to choke-back a sob of self pity, trying her best to be brave and accept the bitter reality of her ineptitude.

“Stop crying,” Azanael said in a weary sigh. “I might have some use for you if we manage to live through the next couple of days. I'll just have to hide you somewhere here, make sure they can't find you.

Once my body recovers more I'll find a way to deal with your immobility-- I doubt forime medicine will be enough to help you.”

Tsubael considered what Azanael said, recognizing that Azanael was rightly viewing her as a burden, a hindrance. She also knew it would be no different for the Commander-- while unable to move, she was a burden to both of them. “I'm sorry.” She then added, “You can leave me if you have to. You don't have to do anything for me.” She sniffled, unable to contain her self-pity.

“Enough already,” Azanael sighed again.

Tsubael felt Azanael's fingers encircle her left forearm. “It's alright. Just calm yourself.” Azanael then drew in a startled gasp.

Suddenly, a vision of Onomil entered Tsubael's mind; vague in appearance but distinct in identity. As the other's visage became clearer, a disconcerting feeling began to wash over her, similar to what she had experienced when contacted by Wakatake's inexplicable ability-- although this episode seemed less vivid, gentler; not so much an inundation as a well-metered stream. As before, the impressions presented themselves all at once, but Tsubael felt more at-ease and better able to focus for a moment on each of the simultaneous ideas and feelings playing out before her.

She felt a blinding release of radiation, seeming to singe her skin and cause her lashes to smolder.

Onomil remained in her mind's eye, seeming to hold her in a longing, unblinking gaze. Her mouth moved, changing its shape to form many unheard words.

She saw Blue's unmistakable stern, proceeding away, her bow disappearing in a torrent of fire, appearing to crash through the middle of Noval.

She felt Onomil's mouth against her neck, caressing, still moving as though whispering a soundless and secret declaration.

She saw what had to have been herself as though from outside her own body-- broken, limp, and lifeless. She saw herself being scooped up from the floor plate of her battered emergency capsule and being held close to a bloody bosom by strong but shaking arms.

The warming glow of Onomil returned, seeming to take over her senses, demand her notice above all other notions. She tried to encircle the other, now driven to bring herself closer to the comfort of that warmth and acceptance, almost afraid to let go as the notion of the other seemed to be slipping away, dissolving.

The vision stopped, reality returned. Tsubael felt the weight and warmth of someone atop her, pressing her hips and back hard against the bedding.

Azanael, she thought.

She realized another unfamiliar sensation; a strangely comforting touch from hands cradling her cheeks. She opened her eyes to find Azanael's swollen-blind face awkwardly close to her own.

Azanael then seemed to startle. She gasped and sprung away to roll onto her own bedding and to curl on her side, turning her back to Tsubael. Her breaths sounded jagged and a bit more labored than those that followed her earlier coughing fit.

Tsubael realized irregularity in her own breathing. “So, one of us has it too,” she said, sharing her foremost thought in light of the extraordinary episode she believed they had just shared. The whole experience, mental and physical, seemed to twist her thoughts, emotions, and even her body through a mix of contrary feelings. She could not stop herself from babbling further even though she knew it would likely agitate the other. “I felt myself-- but I saw-- ” She forced herself to stop, deciding to spare Azanael's feelings by suppressing any mention of her vivid, intimate impression of Onomil in the experience.

“It's you,” Azanael said flatly. “You were there when it happened... as was Ekaril's pet.” She sighed and added, “You have it as well.”

Tsubael recalled the humiliation from knowing that Wakatake had likely experienced even her most private thoughts and she began to fear that her conscience had been laid bare for Azanael as well. Compelled to know, she tested, asking, “What did you experience just now? What did you see?”

Azanael swallowed audibly before replying, “I have no idea.” With an unmistakable hint of disgust, she added, “Don't touch me again.”

The sting of the other's disaffection caused Tsubael to lash back, speaking before she could come up with a retort that would inflict an equal sting, “Y-You're the one who climbed onto me...you, you... lummox.” Flustered, she added, “You're the one who should keep to herself.”

Azanael gave no response, still facing away.

Further rattled by the other's lack of response, Tsubael resumed staring at the ceiling. Her uncomfortable mix of emotions and thoughts on the matter eventually muddled into an indistinguishable mess. The prospect of further thought about the matter ceded and faded into more listless laziness amid the room's still atmosphere.

She noticed the dead silence of the place; there were no voices in the distance, no footsteps, no humming machines; only silent, musty air. She further scrutinized the room, finding that only a sliver of indirect light shone into the space through a partially opened door. Along each wall, the windowless cell had shelves littered with what appeared to be valueless, forgotten items.

The room's forlorn atmosphere reminded Tsubael of that desperate time spent trying to repair Blue by herself after the accident-- just as it seemed now; a sad time spent in silence amid decrepitude with her only possible company seeming to reject her presence.

Internally, she cursed the stupid forime medicine as she felt tears begin to form and again struggled to quell them.

She kept her eyes closed and tried to distract herself with some tactile exploration. She shifted her uninjured leg, interrupting the surrounding stillness with the rustle of her bedding as she brought her left knee up. She glided her sole atop the blankets, examining, evaluating. The forime cushions and coverings were primitive and fibrous things but managed to feel pleasant, rewarding her analysis with an agreeable sensation; allowing her a moment of simple, visceral comfort to distract her from her declining mood. That little exploration required greater exertion than she had expected so, now suddenly exhausted, she let her leg drop flat. She exhaled and surrendered to drowsiness and fatigue, welcoming another impending nap.

“You made the right decision,” Azanael said softly, her words filling the stillness of the place. “What you did likely saved Ekaril. It was clever... resourceful.

And if your assumption about me were correct then your ingenuity would have saved me as well.”

After a moment, she added, “You're odd... and hopelessly awkward... but you're not an idiot.”

Tsubael felt her mood lift a little. It seemed that Azanael was offering some convoluted form of apology, perhaps punctuated with a hint of praise. Perhaps their unexpected telepathy had brought the other to understand and even accept a few things about why she had done what she did, Tsubael mused.

She noticed herself smiling at the notion. She shifted against the softness of her coverings, indulging in a touch of extra comfort as she brought herself to consider what had just happened. She realized that until that moment, only the kind and direct words from the Commander could ever make her feel this way. But she dismissed the notion as her silliness about the matter was likely just an effect of the forime medicine.

Her body relaxed and seemed to lose all vitality as she settled deeper into the primitive bedding. She felt a smile still tugging at the corners of her mouth as she finally surrendered to sleep.

# # #

Tsubael awoke again to Azanael’s coughing, though now it sounded shallow and dry, calming after just a few moments. She turned her head and looked to the other. The swelling of Azanael's face had diminished considerably and it appeared that her many lesions and blistered, irradiated skin had all but sloughed away, exposing new, healthy skin.

Azanael was indeed a handsome creature, Tsubael thought, still gazing toward her roommate. Her thoughts returned to that brief, dream-like moment when they had resurfaced together from the shared surprise of contact telepathy. She recalled the warmth of Azanael's fingers cradling her cheeks and the restrictive crush of the other's body pressing her deeper into the mattress.

She swallowed, now overcome by the realization that she had never been touched like that before by anyone. She also grew to understand that through that accidental contact she had experienced something that only Onomil could ever have known.

A slight unease spread through her, almost guilt; as though she had been caught borrowing something without asking.

“What?” Azanael asked.

Tsubael's attention returned to the present. Unsure what she had missed while daydreaming, she asked, “What, what?”

Azanael narrowed her eyes a little and then rolled away, turning her back to Tsubael. She grumbled, “Stop staring at me-- it's unnerving.”

The room's only door rattled into motion, sliding open to spread light from the corridor into the rest of the room.

Tsubael twisted to her other side and looked up to find Akane in the hallway beyond the door along with another forime-- the one who wrote the play.

The Writer wore a pensive expression, as if unsure whether or not to enter.

Tsubael then noticed Akane looking directly at her, expression as indifferent as ever. The tall forime held a tray lined with a few small vessels, likely containing some kind of food or medicine, Tsubael surmised.

The Writer bowed deeply and said, “Please, forgive our intrusion, Tsubael-sama, Azanael-sama.”

Confused by the unfamiliar connotation of the Writer's overly reverent greeting, Tsubael was unsure how to respond so she decided to simply ask about the matter foremost in her thoughts. “Have you seen Miss Senkoji? How is she feeling?”

“She's doing better. Wakatake finally let us see her today,” Akane said. “And she asked me to make something for you,” she added as she continued into the room with the Writer following close behind.

A little thrill came over Tsubael as she fully considered what Akane said and how it confirmed that Commander Ekaril had to have been thinking of her, perhaps equally concerned for her well-being.

Akane seemed uncharacteristically reserved, showing what appeared to be nervousness as she said, “Hagino said you'll have to adapt to our food so I, um, put something together for you... something really simple. She thought you might be able to digest it okay.” She gave a weak smile and added, “I hope it won't make you sick.”

Tsubael sniffed the air and tried to keep her immediate reaction contained. Though whatever sat on the tray smelled unfit for eating, she tried to allay Akane's increasingly obvious insecurity and presented what she hoped would be seen as a grateful smile.

Akane knelt to place the tray on the floor next to the bedding and then reached out to lift behind Tsubael's shoulders to help her sit up. She then sat on the mattress and edged closer to support Tsubael's back by allowing her to recline back against her.

Tsubael then turned her head to notice Azanael stir and roll onto her side to also face their forime visitors. She seemed to evaluate the newcomers, studying them.

“We met two days ago, in the forest. I'm Akane Kawashima,” Akane said, apparently trying to reintroduce herself to Azanael. She then introduced the Writer; “And this is Michiko Kozuki.”

Azanael gave no response. Her eyes narrowed slightly. She continued to peer at the forime as if she were studying a pair of chittering insects, deciding whether or not to squash them. Her cold, silent scrutiny of the two continued for some time, making it clear she had no intention of engaging in an exchange with the other culture.

Sensing unease from the forime, Tsubael felt compelled to say something; to stick close to the social protocol that forime seemed to rely upon so as to try to keep the whole situation civil. She spoke on both their behalves, hoping to keep smooth relations between everyone but also to set an example for her tactless compatriot. “You'll have to pardon her, she has only a basic understanding of your language and hardly any regard for your customs-- she's a bit odd... and hopelessly awkward.” She felt herself smile as she roiled with the satisfaction that she managed to force Azanael’s position in the matter and cleverly redirect some of the other's earlier criticisms back onto her.

Azanael released a smug-sounding huff. She narrowed her eyes a little more and appeared to fix her gaze on Akane.

After a tense, silent moment Akane said, “Well, let’s get this porridge into you before it gets cold.”

Tsubael felt the supportive warmth of Akane's arm and shoulder press a bit harder against her back as the forime leaned forward to retrieve a small white vessel filled with an opaque, beige slurry.

She handed the container to Tsubael and said, “Take a tiny taste and see if you like it. I can add other things to it if you think it’s too bland.”

Although the stuff smelled like some kind of uncured anti-corrosion coating for machine parts, Tsubael knew that Commander Ekaril must have thought this to be safe, so she held her breath, brought the cup to her lips, and drew a small amount of the lumps and liquid into her mouth. She felt her eyes clamp shut as the strange flavor and awful texture continued to assault her mouth. She managed to force herself to swallow it and released her breath.

“That bad, huh?” Akane seemed almost amused by the matter. She took the cup from Tsubael and turned to busy herself with some of the other things on the tray. After a few moments of mixing and stirring, she handed the food back to Tsubael and smiled. “I'll bet this tastes better. I took a guess about what you'll like. Tell me if I got it right.”

Tsubael could not notice any change in aroma so she held her breath once more as she took another sip. The texture was still awful but the taste seemed to improve, the worst part of the flavor now overpowered by a stronger, more palatable note. She then looked to her right to find Akane grinning, seemingly satisfied with her accomplishment.

“Better?” Akane asked.

Tsubael took another, bigger sip. She swallowed and then nodded. It seemed to taste better with each sample she took as she grew more accustomed to the alien food and its very off-kilter taste. She finished all that had been given to her and as the nutrients settled into her stomach she realized how hungry she had been for the seemingly endless time in this captivity. “I feel like I should have more.”

Akane shook her head. “Hagino said you should only have a little at a time until your body can adapt and digest properly.” She took the cup away and placed it back onto the tray. She then rose to crouch next to Tsubael's mattress and reached to give a strong but tender squeeze to Tsubael's right shoulder. “No one has ever gotten sick from my cooking...” she said, now reaching forward, showing a smile as she seemed to fuss with the lay of the bandage around Tsubael's head, “... and I'll be damned if you'll be the first.”

Akane's eyes then ducked away. Her face seemed to flush. She looked to their left, cleared her throat and said, “And now some for Azanael-sama?”

Azanael's expression seemed tense, as if she struggled to keep something contained. Her eyes maintained a disquieting leer which now seemed to alternate between Tsubael and Akane, as if she despised both of them equally for some unknown offense.

Akane seemed to ignore Azanael's attitude as she stood, took up the tray, and began to move to the other side of the room.

Azanael leaped to stand, startling everyone in the room except seemingly for Akane.

Tsubael noticed that although Akane was tall for a forime, Azanael stood taller, carried much more authority with her stature and the lay of the deep blue forime robe she wore seemed to further magnify her physical presence.

The two stayed locked in a stare, each seeming to challenge the other to make the next move, as if eager and ready to brawl.

“Azanael-sama,” Michiko's voice seemed to tiptoe nervously into the tense silence of the little room. “Miss Hagino asked us to give you this food. She said it will help you get better. We very much want you to get better.”

Azanael's gaze diverted from its steely lock with Akane's, swept down to meet Tsubael's eyes, and held them for a drawn-out moment.

She then returned her attention to Akane and said, “Be careful, chimpanzee.”

“What the hell is your problem?” Akane inched closer to Azanael, seemingly undaunted by the other.

“Please,” Tsubael blurted, hoping to halt any further escalation between the two. “I don't think Azanael is hungry at the moment. We both need to rest some more. Thank you very much for bringing this for us.” She felt as if all her muscles wracked into rigidity as she continued looking up to the two, hoping one or the other would back down from the senseless standoff.

She addressed Azanael in Arumi, keeping her comment just between them, “Leave her be. She's just trying to help us. She might even be the most helpful of the lot.”

“I don't like this one,” Azanael replied, keeping her gaze fixed on Akane.

Tsubael chided, “Get a hold of yourself. Why are you bullying her? She's no match for you. Leave her alone. Please?”

Azanael's eyes then diverted to hold Tsubael's in a lengthy, seemingly contemplative gaze. Her expression softened a little. She kept contact with Tsubael's eyes as she lowered to sit cross-legged at the edge of Tsubael's mattress. “You,” she began. “You shouldn't associate so closely with them.”

“You don't have to like them, but can't you try to be nicer? Not go out of your way to intimidate them? They're defeated and they know it. They're upset enough as it is.”

Azanael's focus then snapped to something next to Tsubael, behind her.

Tsubael twisted herself to follow Azanael's cue and found the Commander smiling to her from the doorway, appearing to lean on Wakatake for support. Although not as rejuvenated as Azanael, Ekaril looked far better than when Tsubael had last seen her. “Commander,” she spoke out of reflex, feeling an unexpected relief come over her as she took in the sight of the other and saluted.

Commander Ekaril addressed them in Arumi, saying, “Tsubael is right. The forime here are trying to help us. We must do what we can to make sure they know we appreciate it. We're emissaries now.”

Azanael smirked. “If that's your wish.” She snapped her right arm across her chest and tapped her fist to her left shoulder, punctuating the reply with an unnecessarily formal salute to the Commander.

 


	4. CHAPTER 4 –- 願い Negai – Wishes

CHAPTER 4 –- 願い _Negai_ – Wishes

 

Tsubael tried to sit up, to bring herself closer to the level of the Commander and everyone else in the room. The transition upright proved too exhaustive, so she abandoned the idea halfway and let herself drop back against the mattress, sapped of all energy. She groaned as her head began to lighten and swirl from the earlier exertion.

She heard an annoyed sigh that had to have been from Azanael.

The other then leaned over to scoop behind her shoulders and lift and hold her upright with obvious impatience. “There.”

Once Tsubael regained her equilibrium, she brought her arms back and braced her palms against the bedding to maintain balance. As soon as she felt stable in the new position, Azanael's support vanished from behind her shoulders. Though she felt embarrassed at her own helplessness, she soon dismissed the feeling, returning her attention to the most important person in the room.

The Commander's presence always made her mindful of her behavior, so she reminded herself to maintain decorum-- even with Azanael. She turned to Azanael to offer proper, dutiful thanks, but found the other looking aimlessly elsewhere as if now avoiding her.

Although she felt nothing unexpected, she began to wonder if perhaps Azanael experienced another awkward telepathic moment during that fleeting contact they just had. She wanted to ask, but with the Commander and the rest there she decided against raising the topic and instead stuck to protocol. “Thank you, Flight Chief.”

Azanael continued to look away, averting her focus. She eventually responded with a terse, affirmative grunt.

Tsubael then turned back to see the Commander and Wakatake lower themselves to settle on the floor beside her bedding, assuming the level shared by Azanael and herself. Once seated, the two remained still and wordless for some time; hands joined, sharing occasional glances, conducting what appeared a soundless conversation.

From Tsubael's limited experience with contact telepathy she considered that the pair might have refined their use of the overwhelming, confusing phenomenon; thinking that perhaps through practice they had found a way to focus and communicate clearly with each other despite the gush of senses and memories that seemed to define the experience. She further theorized that maintaining a physical connection to each other might be more than a gesture of their shared affection, perhaps also serving as a communication link that kept their thoughts synchronized.

Eventually, the Commander cleared her throat and proceeded to speak; polite, calm, and authoritative as always. She used the forime language, obviously addressing Akane and the Writer to say, “Thank you both for taking such good care of my friends.” She then asked, “Would you mind giving us the room for a little while? I have some things to discuss with Azanael-sama and Tsubael-sama.”

“Of course,” Akane said. She looked to Tsubael and asked, “Can we get you anything else? Is there anything I can do for you before we go?”

“Yes,” Azanael answered. “You can stay away from Tsubael, Bakane.”

“What is your problem?” Akane asked, her annoyance at Azanael's derisive twist of her name obvious. “Did I insult you or something?” She then asked, seemingly to the whole room, “Is this a cultural misunderstanding or is she always like this?”

Azanael's tone stayed even, but seemed to subtly jeer as she said, “Oh, have I mispronounced your name? As Tsubael-sama told you earlier, my grasp of your language is limited-- and its guttural syllables all sound alike to me. You should learn to mind your manners around your guests-- even if they happen to misspeak in an unfortunate way.”

Akane's eyes narrowed. She growled, “I've done nothing but try to help. You're the one with awful manners, old woman.”

Azanael's body then shifted as though she might again rise to confront Akane, but she seemed to stop herself and remained in place. She huffed, “Pathetic.”

“Leave her alone!” Tsubael snapped in Arumi, intervening before things could again escalate between the two. Just then she realized that her left hand had somehow knotted into a fist-- a fist she had thumped hard onto Azanael's thigh the moment she had spoken-out in the forime's defense.

Now astonished at her own outburst, Tsubael brought her eyes up from where the heel of her fist remained dented into the other's leg and met her gaze, finding Azanael's eyes widened with what appeared to be equal surprise at their situation. The awkward moment seemed to linger for too long so Tsubael swiped both her hand and gaze away from the other, now feeling her cheeks begin to warm with greater than appropriate embarrassment.

She then heard Azanael release another of her smug little huffs. Then using the forime language, she assumed a composed, commanding tone that seemed better suited to her rank, saying, “This one may be useful to me if she survives her injuries. Right now, she's too weak to defend herself against your forime germs. Your sanitation techniques are lacking and your crude medicines are useless-- so keep your hands off of her.”

“Oh dear,” Commander Ekaril exclaimed, her tone melodramatic, almost mocking. The room's attention shifted to her. “This sounds very serious indeed. Perhaps it would be best to do as Azanael-sama says, Ms. Kawashima.”

Tsubael looked to find the Commander with a hand raised to her mouth, failing to hide an amused smile. At her side, Wakatake wore an unabashed grin, apparently even more inexplicably entertained by the matter than Ekaril.

“There's nothing comical about this-- any of this,” Azanael said, her words taut with audible frustration. “We have no resources, nowhere to go, and we're all in grave danger.”

“We're safe for the moment,” the Commander stated, calm and confident. “Most of the forime communication systems have come back online and I've been observing their news reports. From what I've seen it's obvious that the main fleet is adhering to the plan as expected. We're far from any major center of population, so places like this should remain outside anyone's scrutiny for a while.

And it looks like you've almost fully recovered so, of course, we can rely on you to look after us in case something unexpected happens.” She showed a half-smile and added, “You're already admirably firm about the matter of my first officer's safety.”

Azanael scowled. She began to voice an objection, “That's-- it's only because--”

“Also, I'm certain that the crews of both Noval and Blue are presumed lost,” the Commander assertively interrupted Azanael. “All three of us are dead and gone in that sense-- No one will be looking for us.”

Azanael lowered her head and gave a single nod, appearing to accept the Commander's logical, well-informed assessment of their tactical situation.

Commander Ekaril then looked over her shoulder to the doorway where Akane and the Writer had migrated while she had been speaking. She addressed them in the forime tongue, saying, “Ladies, again, thank you for caring for my friends.” Her subtle and authoritative air seemed to gracefully, indirectly ask their leave.

Wakatake then rose. She backed up a step to join the other two at the doorway and paused to exchange a glance and a tiny, knowing smile with the Commander.

All three forime then bowed and left, leaving the space a bit less crowded and the atmosphere became more intimate, relaxed.

After some silent moments, the Commander spoke, settling back into their home language as she asked, “Azanael, you mentioned that you have a use for my first officer?”

“I-I do,” Azanael replied, her tone uncharacteristically unsteady, as if the Commander's question had taken her by surprise.

“Well then, she is at your disposal.”

Though Tsubael trusted the Commander completely, her curiosity drove her to ask on her own behalf, “What could she possibly need from me?”

Again, Azanael sounded guarded, unsure as she stated, “I-it's complicated. I don't have my whole plan together right now. I need to get some more information before my next move... but no matter what, I'll need someone who can repair and tinker.” Azanael then looked away almost as if to distance herself from her own vague explanation. She added, “You seem good at that sort of thing.”

“Indeed, she certainly is,” the Commander stated, looking directly at Tsubael, smiling.

Tsubael felt herself cringe, embarrassed. She looked away. Her face flushed as the Commander's praise seemed to set everything within her ribs aflutter.

“Mari told me how Tsubael's ingenuity saved both of us. And I owe much to you as well, Azanael, for bringing Tsubael and myself here, to safety.”

“We are well past the need to keep account of each other's favors, Ekaril,” Azanael stated.

The Commander said, “Well, Tsubael intentionally put herself in a very bad position so that you and I could survive.” She looked directly to Tsubael and said, “You always performed far beyond your duties for me.”

The overt affection in Commander Ekaril's gaze made Tsubael forget about everything for an instant. She struggled to regain her composure, realizing that the giddy feeling now coursing through her might lead her to do or say something that would guarantee embarrassment.

“So, I'm certain you'll do so for Azanael as well.”

“Commander?” Tsubael began, confused by Commander Ekaril's last statement. “What do you mean, 'do so for Azanael'?” She felt a nervous laugh escape, betraying her growing insecurity as she added, “You speak as though I won't be serving you any longer.”

The Commander wore a smile that was at once warm and sad. After a moment, she said, “You will always be my first officer.” She added, “But I will be away from you, away from here, soon.”

Tsubael felt unease spread through her as she began to understand the meaning of what she heard. “Away from here?”

Azanael asked, “Where will you go? You aren't thinking of collaborating with the forime, are you? They are desperate. You can't trust them-- even less so than High Command.”

“The one called Yuuko Sugawara is here under false pretenses. She is not a teacher, she is a forime intelligence agent. She was sent here to investigate Mari Wakatake. She was, therefore, sent to discover the activities of the Arume fleet. Soon, I am going with her to meet with others in her agency, to help them to understand how useless it will be for their people to resist with physical warfare.”

“Or they could just hand you over to High Command. They're desperate right now.”

The Commander shook her head. “They are an intelligence agency, not a diplomatic body. To them, the three of us-- and what we know-- will be more valuable than anything. They will do everything possible to keep us safe, hidden.” The Commander added, “If that plan of yours that requires Tsubael's skills will put you in conflict with the High Command, then you would do well to support this alliance with the forime. You'll benefit from their numbers and their resources almost as much as you will from Tsubael's technical brilliance.”

Despite Tsubael's unhappiness about the Commander's temporary departure from her company, she flushed with embarrassment from the compliment.

“Ah, yes. Tsu. Bae. El...” Azanael stretched out each syllable, her tone full of guile. “I've come to learn some interesting things about her,” Azanael said, amusement in her voice. “Some things you might be shocked to know, Ekaril.”

Tsubael began to feel panic, sure that Azanael would enjoy torturing her by telling the Commander some horribly embarrassing secrets that she likely learned during their earlier telepathic episode. Desperate to preempt the other, she blurted, “She's probably going to make up some outrageous lie-- you know she doesn't like me.” Driven to discredit whatever Azanael might say, she added, “She tried to kill you! Then she tried to kill both of us! She tried to kill Wakatake!”

“And aren't you glad I was sloppy about it? What if you're wrong and I didn't intend to kill you after all? Maybe Ekaril's charm worked on me as well.” Azanael said, seeming more amused than before. She seemed intent to taunt Tsubael as she said, “Your first officer has much in common with your Mari Wakatake.” Azanael narrowed her eyes a little, her air of sly amusement deepening as she added, “Yes, our Tsubael has so many talents; reconnaissance, covert telemetry, secret surveillance... ”

Tsubael drew a breath, preparing to decry and drown-out Azanael's next words at whatever volume might be necessary.

Azanael then lunged to clamp a palm over her mouth.

Tsubael tried to twist her face free, but Azanael latched around her and held her fast, entrapping her from behind.

Tsubael wriggled, ducked, and contorted, trying to free herself but the exertion proved too intense. She surrendered, her body going limp within Azanael's controlling captivity, now resigned to face whatever humiliation awaited her. While her muscles burned from their previous struggle and her dignity seemed all but doomed, an unexpected sense began to wash over her; a feeling of comfort. She now knew she was safe; she was being protected.

The Commander sounded almost amused, as if she were already certain of the answer to her own question as she inquired, “What are you two making all of this fuss about?”

Azanael's answer came out quiet and even. “She... has the contact telepathy... the same as your forime.”

Now fully relieved, Tsubael relaxed deeper within the comfort of Azanael's firm encirclement. Alongside the warm, soft palm pressed to her lips, Azanael's fingers seemed to caress her cheek, the sensation reminding her at once of the first, tenuous time her face had been so cradled. She realized that all along, Azanael's intent had never been to silence her; she had orchestrated the whole situation that placed her into this undeniably sheltering embrace.

“You have it as well, most likely,” Azanael said, her manner even humbler than before. Her hold around Tsubael eased. Her arms fell away and retreated.

Now left again to balance herself upright, Tsubael looked to the Commander, finding her gazing down into her own lap, her expression difficult to read.

“It would make sense-- you three survived the experiment,” Azanael explained as she shuffled further away to assume her previous spot alongside the mattress. “You would have the same aftereffects.”

“Experiment?” Tsubael asked, now trying to make sense of what Azanael said. “You mean the accident... it was something planned?”

“What happened to Onomil, Ekaril, you, the others... it was a secret study of new weapon technology.” Azanael audibly swallowed and added, “And it went well.”

“Whose experiment? What sort of experiment?” Tsubael then looked to her right to see the Commander's reaction to the news. “It wasn't a malfunction? That-- that... someone wanted that awful calamity to happen? To us?”

“It's true,” Ekaril said, still staring blankly, quiet, contemplative.

“You knew?” Azanael's voice rose a little with audible agitation. “When did you figure it out? Why did you keep it a secret? If you had told me then I... I might have...”

The Commander shook her head. She drew a breath and paused, as if collecting her strength to say something she dreaded to share. Her voice became uncharacteristically meek as she released what seemed a tenuous sentence into the stillness of the room. “Onomil knew. Onomil told me.”

The mention of the name seemed to freeze Azanael's body. Her posture then drooped a bit with the deflation of obvious heartbreak.

“In the end,” Ekaril said, her voice cautious, low. “Onomil spoke to me.”

Azanael's head rose and her eyes swiveled to the Commander's direction. Her breaths seemed to deepen as some quiet moments passed. She eventually asked, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It isn't easy to explain,” the Commander started. “It happened before too-- only a few times.

After the accident... I had seen her, several times. I thought I had lost my mind.” She then leaned a bit forward, apparently to address Azanael more closely. “But now I'm certain.

In that catastrophe so long ago... Onomil didn't exactly die; not as we've all come to understand in our own lives. Some part of her, her essence... lingered within Blue-- perhaps somehow within the storage fields of Blue's main system? Among all the other component programs? I won't pretend to understand it. And she didn't seem to understand either.”

Azanael looked catatonic; frozen by shock.

Tsubael knew Commander Ekaril would never say such things unless they were true, so she felt compelled to find out more as her mix of surprise, terror, and wonder at the idea intensified. “You saw Onomil? Aboard Blue? When? How often? Why didn't you say something?”

Azanael then grew restless. Audibly agitated, she said, “You could have told me. You should have told me.”

The Commander did not respond right away, seeming to take great care with her words before she spoke them. “Well, I'm afraid it wasn't quite as simple as the way I just described it-- it was fleeting, incidental.

It happened the first time I returned to Blue, after locating Mari. We were just about to reestablish contact with Noval for the first time since the incident.

I entered the bridge and took my post for the first time in twenty skoors. While I glanced at the engine output status in the main display, I saw Onomil there on the bridge with us, at her station-- it was just a fleeting thing really-- I looked a second time and her station was empty.

Tsubael didn't seem to notice, and I dismissed it, thinking perhaps my mind was making things up; showing me what I wanted most to see when I returned to the bridge that day-- both of my officers.

The second time though, I had no need to doubt my senses.

It happened in Onomil's quarters. You had crippled Blue and left us. Tsubael had taken it upon herself to bring Mari back here, to safety. I was alone, and, I'll now admit, in the deepest of despair.

It was then that she first spoke to me.

We actually conversed, and I knew it really was her, not just some wishful glint or hallucination. She consoled me, helped me to see through my grief.

She had no explanation for her presence, no more than I. She didn't know what brought her to be there, but didn't seem at all bothered by it. She was just accepting, peaceful, content.”

Tsubael looked to Azanael, feeling a measure of concern for how the other was taking these certainly upsetting revelations. She found Azanael quite stoic, head resting downward, eyes closed, breaths slow and even.

“I saw her a third time. Noval had dispatched a megabomber and support squadron, presumably to finish us, and Onomil helped us intercept a tectonic warhead-- I'm certain of it.

Just after Blue's stability controls spontaneously recovered, I know she was at her station, together with us, on the bridge-- I saw her there.”

Tsubael felt tears begin to well-up within her as stronger memories of Onomil overtook her thoughts. What other reason could there have been for Blue's systems to spontaneously restore? she pondered rhetorically. “Of course,” she said, trying to keep herself together. “Of course it was her,” she affirmed, now allowing herself to accept what Commander Ekaril said as total truth. “Onomil was wonderful,” she declared, venting a measure of her stifled feelings.

The commander's voice then gained a near humorous lilt as she continued, “And she must have been particularly pleased that I ejected you before my sacrifice to destroy Noval.” She smiled as she added, “I'm now certain she did the same to me, the very moment that Blue's bridge broke apart.”

Tsubael released a half laugh, half sob at the notion, now recalling the feelings from that moment when her capsule closed around her, that instant of sour understanding that the Commander decided to exclude her from the final plan, that they would not die together. She mopped the corners of her eyes with her left sleeve and struggled to contain herself as the Commander's account resumed.

“But right before that, just as Blue's bow struck Noval's hull, she appeared to me as an image on the main screen. She looked wonderful, full with serenity. That image of her seemed to glow so bright it washed the color from everything else. In that moment she communicated to me very clearly, one last time, as though her very thoughts and feelings merged directly with my own. It was simple, beautiful... it was an entreaty of sorts. She wanted me, along with Mari, along with the both of you, to help the forime; to help the arume; to do what we can to help both sides to accept the fate they now share.”

Tsubael sniffled, recomposed, having won her fight to contain her emotions. “Of course,” she said, feeling a small smile overtake her face. “Onomil would want exactly that. I'm sure of it.”

She then looked to Azanael, hoping her declaration might offer some kind of comfort, but instead found herself overcome with a sense that the other's continued silence might be a sign of trouble. She tired to allay some of Azanael's grief as well as her own guilt, saying, “I shouldn't have said that-- I was thoughtless.” She added, “You would know better than anyone what she would have wanted.”

After some quiet moments passed, Azanael whispered as though to herself, “She never showed herself. She never spoke to me.” She then choked-back an obvious sob and swallowed, returning to her previous, stolid state.

“She had another wish,” the Commander started. She seemed almost to blush before she continued, “It was a wish for you, Azanael.” She then reached across Tsubael's legs to rest her hands atop the robe covering Azanael's knees.

The touch seemed to stir Azanael's attention and she looked first to the contact of Ekaril's hands and then craned her head higher to line up with the Commander's face. Her expression seemed weary but curious, apparently waiting for Commander Ekaril to elaborate. “A wish? For me?” she asked.

“Onomil wanted you to take care of Tsubael.”

Azanael swallowed. She eventually nodded, seeming to acknowledge the notion as something she had already known.

“She knew both of you so well, cared for you so much. I think we can all trust her decision.”

Azanael sniffled. She then issued a little grunt and nodded, seeming to signal concurrence with Commander Ekaril's logic.

“Take care of me? Her?” Tsubael spoke out of reflex, unsure why the idea seemed to rile and confuse her so much. “But... But I don't think she can even tolerate me. She thinks I'm-- ”

“And I want you to look after Azanael,” the Commander interjected.

Tsubael recognized the Commander's sentence as an order and after an awkward hesitation, she managed to properly acknowledge it. “Aye, Commander.”

Despite Tsubael's trust in all of the Commander's decisions, she failed to feel the same certainty about the matter that Azanael and Ekaril seemed to share. Instead, she found herself now wishing to escape the two. She needed to be alone to think, to process all of the wondrous and upsetting things the Commander had just shared.

Azanael said, “You look unwell.”

“She does,” the Commander said, nodding.

Tsubael felt her body squirm, reacting beyond her control amid the others' scrutiny. She offered the only protest she could manage to voice, saying, “I'm fine, really.” She looked to the doorway, now wondering if she could summon the energy to drag herself out into the hallway, away from the two.

“She probably needs to void after taking in that awful food-- it smelled foul. Where do the forime perform their excretions? Some kind of soil pit? I'll take her to it.”

“They're a bit more civilized than that. Their facilities can be used hygienically-- I've been using them for skoors now.” Commander Ekaril then chuckled, commenting, “It's not as though you'll have to dangle her over an open ditch while she voids.”

“I don't need to void!” Tsubael protested, her mortification amplified nearly to infinity now that the Commander was also mentioning her alimentation. “The food wasn't that bad... I'm fine, really,” she said, now trying to calm and collect herself.

“You still look unwell,” Azanael said. She rose to her knees and shuffled closer.

Before Tsubael could realize what happened, she felt herself pulled from beneath her coverings and scooped up by Azanael. “What are you doing?”

The other's arms shifted and adjusted to lock behind Tsubael's knee and around her ribs, seeming to fasten her into place against Azanael's trunk.

“Put your arms around my neck,” Azanael said, her tone formal, commanding. She shifted, adjusting her hold further. “Hold on to me.”

Tsubael complied, realizing that Azanael was requesting her help.

“That ridiculous thing they put on your leg makes you unbalanced,” Azanael said.

“Why are you holding me?” Tsubael asked.

Azanael fully assumed a martial tone befitting her rank as she explained, “I'm not holding you, I'm transporting you. Since your only option is to self-heal, I'm taking you to where you can eat and fuel your recovery.”

Azanael swiveled toward the doorway. “Commander Ekaril, please lead us to suitable food.”

The Commander rose. She shook her head and said, “I don't think you'll find any of the forime food palatable.”

“You know what real food is like. And you know what their food is like. I'm certain you can concoct something better than that filthy, toxic-smelling paste that Bakane used to poison her.”

Though Tsubael felt obligated to defend Akane's well-intended offering, she acknowledged that deep inside she agreed more with Azanael's very sensible plan.

The Commander shook her head. “I don't think it's wise. Though many of the students fled with their parents, there are still a number of them here-- and only the handful of them that know about me also know about you two. Our secrecy is our protection... it would be unwise to compromise it.”

“Then disguise us – as you have yourself – so that we won't be noticed,” Azanael said. “You can't just hide us in this cell forever-- especially if you're leaving with that forime intelligence agent.”

“It won't be as simple as that...” the Commander said.

Something about the feel of Azanael's cradling arms made Tsubael feel audacious, as if she had somehow gained a rank merely from the physical contact of the other, and she now found herself making a request of the Commander, “Please, Commander? She's right-- you can get us to blend in. We just need to color our hair, use those covers to hide our eyes... with that and some forime clothes on us we shouldn't stand out at all.”

The Commander shook her head. “It's more than just looking the part. Neither of you have lived among them. You don't know the subtleties of their customs like I do. You will be found out quickly.”

“We'll introduce ourselves as forime from a different part of the planet,” Azanael said. “That should suffice as an explanation for our linguistic and cultural ignorance while we learn to better fit in.”

Commander Ekaril showed a small smile. “Alright.” She grinned a bit broader and commented, “I see now that I have no hope of winning against the two of you.” She then addressed Azanael, saying, “We'll need to go to my dormitory to prepare you two. It's a bit of a journey from here; in another building; across the campus. Should I summon the forime for help?”

Tsubael felt Azanael shuffle the weight of her body with a minuscule, evaluative toss.

Azanael shook her head. “I'll be fine just like this.”

Tsubael then felt herself begin to move. She reinforced the lock of her arms around Azanael's neck as the other carried her out of the room and down a dusky corridor. Despite her curiosity about their progress through the building, she let her eyelids droop to a close, compelled to do so by the unexpected comfort of closeness and the subtle rocking motion imparted by Azanael's gait.

“So, one of us can still glide,” Azanael said softly. “Even without a ship for power.”

“You're my ship,” Tsubael replied, surprising herself with her own externalization of the thought. As she replayed her own words, she cringed, understanding then how awkward her comment sounded. She tried to save face, offering, “Er, thank you, Flight Chief Azanael... is what I meant to say.”

Azanael's voice stayed soft but gained an air of formality as she replied, “It's my duty, Operator First Class Tsubael.”


End file.
